


Back From Hell

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Deception, M/M, crossposting, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural, yes. Winged, yes. Angelic . . . well, maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back From Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartslogos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslogos/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Have Faith in Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/858311) by [heartslogos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslogos/pseuds/heartslogos). 



> For the sake of simplicity- Ra’s is Lucifer, Kal-el is Micheal

“Timothy,” The women greets him. She’s dark-skinned and dark-eyed, still, contained, elegant. Talia’s favorite type of host.  
  
“Mother.” Tim ducks his head, allowing her to examine the bruising Jason left on his neck. They’d made love tonight.  
  
“If nothing else, your lover at least knows how something like you deserves to be treated.” Talia twines a lock of his host’s hair around her finger absently, and yanks. The flash of _painpleasureterror_ that accompanies it is grounding.  
  
“I would never allow someone to defile your work.” He leans into her touch, eyes sliding shut as the ever-present burn of holiness begins to fade. Jason is worth such pain, but it is not the sort mother has taught him to enjoy. He sighs and ruffles his wings.  
  
“Such an obedient boy,” Talia murmurs. She continues to pet his hair, occasionally opening cuts on his scalp with the sharpened edges of her nails. “My darling apprentice. What have you done since your second escape from hell?”  
  
“I found a host, Mother,” Tim says softly, whispering like a child sharing a secret. “A permanent one.” Poor lost young Alvin Draper. Prostitute and thief and drug addict, but so innocent underneath his façade of worldly cynicism. So desperate to save his girlfriend’s life.  
  
       _“You buy souls, don’t you? What could I get for mine?”_  
  
      _“I have no need for your soul, Draper. Your body, on the other hand…”_  
  
He’d chosen the boy for his eyes. Pale, rich blue, untainted by any other color. So much like what Tim’s had been, in his early years. Every other part of the body could be remolded into a copy of the boy he’d been. But it pleases him to have eyes that are real. Jason deserved to have that much be true.  
  
“And braved the angels’ fury to be with your beloved.” Talia croons nonsense as she opens a delicate tracery of shallow cuts on the underside of his wrist. He laughs, soundlessly, and leans against her further.  
  
“Jason is important to me.” That’s all the explanation he needs to give. Talia has broken him and re-forged him and broken him again. There is no part of him unfamiliar to her.  
  
She kisses his forehead, indulgent and amused. “When this world ends, and my Father remakes it into an extension of his kingdom, I will find your beloved. He will die quickly and wake to you for remaking.”  
  
Tim smiles at her, helpless and adoring. He remembers the first time he woke on the rack, Talia’s steady hands and gentle voice as she destroyed him. He remembers the lullaby she sang the first night after he stumbled from the rack into her guiding arms. He remembers the taste of blood shed by his first victim. Talia has taught him the way to make a demon of someone, the best way, the truest way. Jason will be magnificent.  
  
“Until then?”  
  
“Play your games, darling. Father needs another challenge besides Kal-el.” Talia strokes his wings fondly. “As do Kal-el and the rest of the angels.”  
  
She pulls a trio of feathers free of their sheathing, bright, sharp points of pain blooming where the bases rip free. Tim shudders and goes boneless, eyes hazing over with pleasure. She dips her fingers into the pooling blood, marks the skin between his shoulder blades with an unfamiliar sigil. It begins to itch as the blood dries, then starts to burn as the blood flakes off.  
  
“A ward, Mother?” Tim asks blearily, still half lost to the wash of pleasure.  
  
“Merely a charm against identification. You don’t want either side to recognize Ra’s favorite torturer before your game is through, do you?”  
  
Tim smiles.


End file.
